Deliverance
by bluesladytea
Summary: Where Padmé helps to build the Rebellion and they recreate an old champion they thought they had lost. AU
1. Chapter 1

"_The age of the Galactic Republic is over. A group of politicians would gather around, talk about tea and disregard the worlds in need. During the era of the Republic, there was still slavery, child prostitution, illegal drug trades…" a woman in a light green pants suit argued against several other people sitting in a semicircle._

"_I have to agree with Mally," a dark skinned woman with gold makeup nodded. "The Republic was just talk. The Emperor has promised things about his rise and he has delivered so far. Some of the Outer Rim planets are already being cleaned up. Gangsters are being cast off; drug rings are being taken apart…"_

"_He has delivered, but on what cost? This has turned into a takeover, and war has broken out. People who have been allies for centuries have turned their backs on each other. Thousands upon hundreds of thousands of people are dying." A second darker skinned woman snapped back, her shoulders squared. Her companion, a diminutive man with black hair and blue eyes, nodded silently, concurring. _

"_The Empire has, in its four years of standing, done more than the Republic has within a span of twenty. How can it not have our best interest at heart?" argued the first woman again. _

Padmé changed the program.

"_The Empire has closed off several Outer Rim planets due to the fugitives still on the run. While the Jedi continue to elude the Empire, all planets are asked to be on the lookout for them and to hand over any they may harbor…_" Amar Kuklett, a Twi'lek reporter was all charm and smiles. Padmé didn't care for him. He made light of massacres and vicious guerrilla tactics the Empire employed to overthrow governments and snuff out those who even hinted at opposing the mandates of the new galactic order.

The old reporter, an older female human, had been replaced. Freedom of speech had been silenced; the woman had spoken the truth of the Empire live for the last time. Padmé kept her picture. There were so few who said what they meant and meant what they said.

A finger tapped at the glass. Padmé ignored it, instead concentrating on the Holonet reports of Palpatine's scourge of the galaxy. She couldn't help but curl her lip up about it. The tapping became more insistent and slowly the datapad floated out of her hands. Padmé floundered to grab for it. She held it tightly. The tapping stopped. Padmé did not look behind her, focusing on the news and other reports.

"_The Imperial Army, under their Naval Commander Darth Vader, has recently just quelled a civil war happening within the galaxy, both planets signed over their monarchs and new governments are being established_…"

A puppet government, of course; convenient to reach out to and easy to control. The Imperial Army was invasive, going into the cracks of the universe without so much as a by your leave, illegal searches were being conducting and sentient beings were sold or forced into slavery. Darth Vader, the Emperor's right hand, scoured the galaxy, tearing people and planets apart at his command. Anakin, the boy who had loved his mother so much – no, he was Darth Vader. He wasn't Anakin Skywalker, with dreams of grandeur and a heart of gold.

Darth Vader had no heart, but he had still been born from Anakin. What did it make Anakin?

A tear slid down but Padmé didn't bother to wipe it away. It was only one tear these days. It had become easier to not mourn for the boy who had told her he loved to pod race because it had felt so free. For the good of the galaxy, she prayed that Darth Vader would die, for the good of the boy who had pledged to help her on Tatooine.

She had cried often in the past for the little boy and the earnest padawan who had tried to make her fall in love with him. Maybe if she had loved him back, if she'd comforted him, maybe things would have been different. He'd needed love, love the Jedi couldn't provide. Instead, for all his comfort and insecurities, all he'd had was a twisted old man in the guise of the kindly grandfather.

She reached for her cup of tea and took a lengthy sip. It was spicy, made from an underground plant called _chujupak_, native on Dantooine. It burned her throat like good rum. She went to her reports, listing and documenting, cataloguing all that went on that she could manage to fit in her memory.

The tapping began behind her again and when she placed her cup down on its coaster, it slid to the left. Padmé closed her eyes for patience. "Stop that." Her voice was harsher than she had intended, but she couldn't help it anymore – not with, with _that_.

Things happened all at once, as if he'd heard her mind's echo of unease.

The lights flickered and the Holonet was abruptly shut off. Her datapad flew across the room and shattered into several pieces. She flinched when a piece of shrapnel hit her ankle. The tapping turned into knocking, a heavy fist slamming at the large tank filled with green bio-fluid.

Padmé reached for her tea again, if only to hold the warm comfort of a cup, something solid, but the cup imploded and hot liquid covered her desk, splashed on her hand and touched on the edges of her dress and the shock of it drove her to stand. Her fingers curled into her palm. She almost turned around to confront the tank but the lights flickered one last time before they shut down completely. She could still hear the hum of the generators and saw the lights in the hallway on. She swallowed the instinctual ire that rose in her chest.

Why was she here? Was it necessary that she stay here? She was not a scientist or physician – she was an advocate of freedom with a Rebellion to run. She was once a Queen, once a Senator, never a babysitter. She did not want to be here.

Something touched her hair. Before she could flinch away and leave the room, she heard the pins holding her hair up clatter to the floor. They were yanked out quickly, almost angrily. The knocking was thunderous now. She did not move. She heard the door lock.

What felt like fingers brushed through her hair, curious like a child's, touched the smooth line of her jaw, the curve of her earlobe and the shell of her ear. The knocking had stopped. One of the thick straps of her periwinkle evening gown slid halfway down her shoulder. It moved no further than that; it was an attention seeking maneuver, not a sexualized intimidation tactic.

Padmé yanked it up and turned quickly, "Stop it. You know better." She ignored the voice that said he might not. In the dark, she could still see the glow from the fluid within the tank and the illuminated naked body within it.

Bright blue eyes were narrowed at her, short hair waved around the angry face of the teenager within it. His lips were pulled back in a grimace of wrath. Anakin's face stared back at her bitterly. A hand slammed against the tank's surface open palmed.

"Stop it. Just stop," her voice was softer now, disappointed instead of angry. "Stop being so childish." She tugged absently at the strap, fussing, and folded her arms across her chest. "You're nineteen," _but you haven't lived for that long_, "You need to stop throwing these tantrums." She scolded, feeling like a mother with an unruly child.

The fingers of the hand against the tank curled. _Then look at me. Talk to me_. The words came as a whisper, spoken but not said. "Don't be difficult," she murmured. He gave her a pained look. She remained stolid in the face of his suffering.

_Why won't you talk to me? _

Padmé reached for the lights, touching the sensor pad to turn them on. They wouldn't activate. She breathed out a large sigh.

_Why?_ The voice seemed to be getting impatient, angry again.

_LOOK AT ME! _

The roar in her mind caused Padmé to flinch and face him, readying to weather the storm to come though she needn't have been afraid. He wouldn't hurt her. Her facial expression must have betrayed her even in this darkness. The boy's eyes dropped from her, chest moving rapidly. _Please. Please just look at me_. His nakedness no longer bothered her; it was everything else about him that did. "I am."

The statement didn't help, his shoulders dropped after she said it. The boy's forehead rested against the tank, looking defeated. Padmé couldn't tell if he was crying or not in the fluid, and was thankful for it. She saw a light flashing and looked at her comm. It was Bail. She touched the sensor pad again and the lights flickered on reluctantly.

"Padmé," she answered her comm.

"We've made contact with the arms dealers. They've agreed to a location." Padmé nodded, listening carefully through the static of their controlled link. Bail said something but static killed his voice.

She frowned, "Where Bail? Where?"

"It's dangerous there Padmé, very dangerous. We can't spare many men and the Senators are on lockdown after the Empire seized control. We can't leave our planets without notifying the Emperor." His voice was muffled, distorted, and parts of his sentences between his previous ones and the next were lost in the bad transmission, "It would be suicide."

"I would rather risk it than not." Padmé quipped; she knew where this was going.

"The Kaminoans said he should be ready soon."

"They can contact me later; this is far more important Bail." Padmé said firmly.

"Take him with you Padmé," she knew who Bail was insinuating.

"He's not ready" –

"He will be ready by the time you will need to leave for the scheduled meeting," Bail soothed. "It's perfect timing."

"Taun We said that his condition is remarkable. She had even recommended that he should stay in his tank until more tests can be run." Padmé retorted, feeling anger she shouldn't feel at the situation.

"I know that your situation…disquiets you, but we need him and so do you." Bail's voice was quieter, softer as though he were trying to gentle a nearly wild animal.

"We do not know how stable he is," Padmé drudged up the cool, distant politician Palpatine of all people had made. "He is a new subject; Taun We said that he is the first to have developed so well. Other clones produced at such a fast rate were deformed or mentally incapable." told herself every day.

"Padmé, it isn't like you to make excuses." Senator Organa's tone was almost scolding.

"These aren't excuses! I'm worried for him," Padmé snapped her mouth shut. Bail, for his part, managed to not look smug.

"I know, but it would be in his nature to worry about you if he can't go with you," Bail's voice was almost gently teasing, but Padmé couldn't bring herself to appreciate it. Her throat tightened and the sour taste of grief and disturbance lingered on her palate.

"We do not know what his nature is." It was the truth, a truth that Obi-Wan had told her when he confronted her the last time she saw him before he went after his once-padawan. They had not known his, the real Anakin, true nature. Now, with _this_, they did not know the nature of the new-but-not beast. It was dangerous. Padmé could not shake the suspicion and fear of him.

The tone of Padmé's voice made her unappealing to argue with, and so Bail conceded defeat. "Take him with you Padmé. He needs to learn what he must do eventually and he is the best security you could possibly have. Taun We _also_ said he would be capable within a week. His muscles are developed, strong, his brain functions are high" –

"Where is the meeting Bail?" she cut in, she couldn't stand it when they spoke of him as if he weren't there, floating behind her, ever the watchful and silent audience to her everyday life, as if he were a specimen of some sort – Padmé stopped her ranting. She cooled down. He was. He was a specimen. It was the same mantra she repeated to herself nearly every day.

"Raxus Prime. As soon as we have your confirmation they will give us the coordinates of the meeting."

Padmé straightened, Raxus Prime; a heap of old junkyard parts and a surprisingly complex society of Jawas and humans. "How sure are we about these dealers?" she asked, voice quiet. A perilous place that the Empire had already begun to lay stake in. It was like going into the nexu's den. Padmé entertained a brief, depressing thought of being caught while on that miserable planet. She cast it off.

"We aren't." Bail's face was grim and drawn. "But our numbers are growing faster than we have sufficient supplies for. This is an extremely enormous danger to undertake, but it must be done Padmé."

Padmé sat back down and thought of the young man in the tank behind her. She didn't look at him. She couldn't. Choices had to be made and most of them were out of her hands. Circumstantial choices were never really choices at all. "Give them the confirmation." She plucked at her dress. "I will contact Taun We; Bail set me up with a ship and the necessary papers, something nondescript, ordinary. My security cannot be more than two people, preferably a man and a woman. It will be easier to blend in if it doesn't seem like I have a legion of bodyguards tracking my every movement."

Bail raised his brows up at Padmé's tone. Chastised properly by his nonverbal gesture, she offered a humble, "Please Bail. Please."

He nodded, "Be safe."

"You as well." The link ended and Padmé leaned back against her chair. She closed her eyes and felt something nudge at her. Like a touch, but it wasn't physical.

She frowned momentarily, but allowed it. She opened her eyes and swiveled to look at the body in the tank.

He stared at her knowingly. The tank wasn't soundproof. She rested her chin on her palm and simply watched him. Was he ready? Would it be a grave mistake to let him out? Would past experiences prevent him from being a new person? Would exposing him to violence at the same age as the real Anakin just lead him down the same path?

But he had no mother to lose. He had no one to lose, no one to drive him to become consumed by anger and grief, emotions so powerful and strong that they would be the death of him. He was more of a blank slate than the tumultuous Anakin Skywalker.

His brows furrowed, as if hearing her.

Padmé stood abruptly, pressing a call button. A protocol droid scuttled in, "Yes miss?" the voice was female and softly accented, origins likely Central Alderaan. Bail had once claimed they had the best built droids on Alderaan there.

"Contact Taun We, I shall need to speak with her, and send in Dr. Philscop. I need him to run some tests."

"Yes miss. Right away. Would you like your lunch?" the protocol droid cocked its head at her.

"Yes, please. Send it here, I'll be taking lunch in my office." It was hardly an office anymore, but Padmé made due.

"Very good miss. Today's lunch is stuffed Iriaz belly with a light salad. Acceptable?"

"Yes." Padmé had returned to the Holonet, "Could you get me a new cup of tea…and a new datapad?"

"Yes miss, right away."

"Thank you."

The protocol droid scuttled away. Padmé watched the reports of the Holonet, focusing on the Empire's slowly all-encompassing reach. Dantooine was allied with the Empire, technically. They had offered her sanctuary far, far out of the Empire's reach, glad to be allied with fighters of the Republic. The jungle was not a particularly found place for outsiders to venture in. Communications were weak and at times navigational technology failed. Her fortress was composed of the trees and fauna of the planet, underground with alert systems that would make intruders would be hard pressed to get in. It made Padmé very safe and secure, but incredibly isolated and her base of operations was far from her allies. Her isolation was also one of the ideal places to hide _him _from the Empire, and her former friendship with the original made it obvious that she understood him more. She'd told Bail once before that she had never really understood him at all.

She would have to take him with her if everything checked out. She didn't want to though. It would be carrying around the mirror of the past, where there had been a politician and there had been the protector. It wouldn't be different, but at the same time, nothing would ever, ever be the same.

Lips pursed, she shut the Holonet off and bent to the floor to pick up her fallen hairpins.


	2. Chapter 2

understandably, this story is probably very confusing what with it being placed in an au i haven't described very well yet, but things will become a little clearer. enjoy.

* * *

As it was often in this place, he dreamt. There wasn't much else he could do. He simply closed his eyes and dreamt of places he had (_not_) been to before. He dreamt of Tatooine, the place of heat and grit where death breathed and thrived. He dreamt of a small hovel and of sandstorms and of little people in robes with hoods. He could taste the salt of his bloodied cracked lips, and feel the dryness in his eyes. He dreamt of his mother, but the recollections were vague and distorted, seen through the eyes of a nine year old.

The back of his neck tingled, raising the peach fuzz on his skin, and his eyes opened. She entered. She had a cup of something hot, he could see the steam rising from it and under one arm she carried a datapad. She sat herself in front of the computer. As it was, she usually didn't bother looking or communicating with him unless he made her; made her angry, made her frightened, made her…_something_. He couldn't think of what would make Padmé like this towards him.

He tapped on the glass, furrowing his brow. She needed to stop all this ignoring his existence nonsense; he was leaving with her within a week's time and he was going to be protecting her like he once had. There were people out to kill her; the Empire. She needed to not ignore him and be open. If she only spent her time trying to avoid him, it could get her killed when he would soon be trying to protect her.

She thankfully didn't require the coercing that she'd needed yesterday. She swiveled the chair to look at him. Three months ago when he'd come into her care, she hadn't been able to look at him; naked and floating as he had been. To be honest, it had been difficult to look at her as well.

"Yes?" she asked with a small smile on her lips though it was strained. Anakin didn't push his luck. It was more than he'd received from her thus far.

He said nothing at first, only smiling at his triumph at getting her to look his way without having to really do anything. _When are we going?_ He knew he sounded excited, but it had been so long since he'd stretched his legs; four and a half months to be exact.

Her polite smile didn't drop, but he could feel a ripple like a stone being dropped into deep water and leaving a small continuous wake behind it. "We aren't sure if you will be accompanying me on this trip."

Anakin saw it on her face – 'don't get your hopes up kid'. He found himself insisting the obvious. _You're running tests on me and clearing me for travel_.

"Travel isn't all of what will be happening. There will be exertions, exertions that your body may not be able to handle yet; fighting, running, stress…" she turned to see a middle aged human man waiting patiently at the threshold of her office. "Dr. Philscop, come in, please. I was expecting you."

Dr. Philscop adjusted his white lab coat, muttering an almost polite good morning to Padmé while trying to stifle his yawn. "Skywalker," he said as acknowledgement. On his datapad, he copied down Anakin's muscle growth, his organ functions and brain waves to be sent through the medidroids and Taun We for further inspection. "Anything sore?" he asked and it took a moment for Anakin to realize that the doctor was talking to him. He shook his head. "Good…good. Any burning sensations? Have you flexed your muscles? Do you move around frequently while submerged?" the physician kept firing off questions and Anakin shook his head to most of them. Some he just answered using the Force on the doctor because there were some things Padmé didn't need to know.

"Alright," the physician rocked on his heels while he sent the results off to a lab. "To complete the tests, we're going to need to remove him from the fluid and go through the entire cleaning process. If we're lucky, this will be the last time we have to follow through this procedure," Dr. Philscop made a vague gesture with one hand toward the tank. "If not, he'll likely have to be submerged another few months." The physician cocked his head, weighing something, "If he is submerged again, the age acceleration formula will be left out of the fluid this time. He's grown rapidly and right now he's at his prime," he sounded somewhat astounded and concerned.

Padmé nodded, accepting this and looked over at the young man – boy in the tank. "Alright. When can we begin?" she clasped her hands together.

Dr. Philscop scrubbed his face tiredly, "How fast can I get a strong cup of caf?"

Padmé pressed the call button located on her desk and scant moments later, her protocol droid scuttled in. "Yes miss?"

"Get Dr. Philscop a cup of caf" –

Dr. Philscop seemed to groan and deflate at her words. He seemed so tired. "And prep the lab sanitizing room. And get someone to help me move him," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Anakin. "Let's get him some fresh air."

Anakin pressed his hands to the glass and grinned widely. He saw Padmé's strained expression and it at once doused his prior mood and inspired a new one. He felt something between annoyance and disappointment. His heart twisted in his chest at that expression being caused by his possible release from this mechanical womb. He furrowed his brows, frowning now and saw Dr. Philscop leave the room. Padmé made to follow and Anakin chose then to reach out to her. He'd learned over the months to rarely use her name. She seemed to take it as a personal offence.

_Look over here. Please_.

Padmé stopped and for a long, long moment, Anakin wasn't sure if she would look over at him. She turned, brown hair curling around her shoulders like a shawl. "Yes?"

Her facial expressions were admirably blank but he saw what lay in her eyes, the same as any animal could smell blood. He saw fear, a trembling, cowering, crippling kind of fear he had never seen before. Not like in war, or as a slave; something not being fatalistic but a kind of fear he had never before seen. Fear of him, or for him, he didn't know. Nonetheless, he reached out again.

_Don't_ _be afraid. Everything is going to be alright_. Anakin didn't even know what 'everything' may mean to her, but he still meant what he said. He smiled at her again, sending a wave of comfort that seemed to be not met with a wall but it seemed to have been…averted.

Padmé didn't smile back before she turned and left the room.

Anakin floated in his tank in silence, wondering what would happen to the almost polite air they had maintained while he'd been submerged when he came out. He pressed his fingers against the glass and drew random shapes; stars, spirals, circles and hexagons to pass the time while they prepared to run, of what he was certain would be the final tests that would allow for outside freedom.

Anakin knew what he was, and could see enough through Padmé that she knew it too. A long time ago, he had vowed to protect her and he would see it through the end. How she felt about him once he was free of this tank wouldn't matter; he would still protect her and ensure her wellbeing.

Heavy thoughts clouded his mind, vying for attention to be focused on one. If he did, the emotions would be terrible – he had never been extremely good at reining them in so he did what he always did when on the crest of an inevitable boiling point he could not control.

Anakin closed his eyes and dreamed.

Dr. Philscop drank from the cup deeply, casting a glance at Padmé. He noted the dark circles beneath her eyes and the way she twisted her fingers into her lovely gown as if to strangle her dress. She had all the classic signs of worry. And fear. He cleared his throat and looked up at the main computer. He typed in his pass code, entering the system's automated cleaning process. Several other monitors were on standby, waiting to perform scans and tests on the clone's body.

"It's very surprising," Dr. Philscop said honestly. Padmé looked up from the machine she had been gliding her fingers over absently.

"What is?" her voice was cool and composed but not necessarily distant. It invited conversation that she likely needed.

"His progress," Dr. Philscop stepped out of the way of a long hose attached to a mechanical arm that would help to rinse off the gestation fluid and nutrients from Anakin's body. "Taun We has…expressed some concerns regarding his memories."

Padmé raised a brow but seemed to agree. "Clones aren't supposed to contain original memories."

"No, no they aren't. They're supposed to learn through experience, just like their originals." Dr. Philscop tried his best to keep the disturbed note from his voice. "The clarity with which he remembers things – his training, his capability of using the Force…how he remembers people," Dr. Philscop said delicately as he could. He saw Padmé clutch at her arm with a white knuckled grip that threatened to tear the fabric of her sleeve.

"It's unnatural." Padmé murmured, concurring. It was almost time for him to arrive for his sanitization process to begin. She didn't want to stay for long.

Dr. Philscop raised his brows back at her in surprise. "Cloning itself is unnatural. Given your circumstances however, I can see how your anxiety is well founded." Dr. Philscop was delicate until it was no long necessary.

She frowned. "Why does he have his original memories?"

Dr. Philscop leaned against a counter and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm in expert in the body, not the mind. After I do my examinations, the Kaminoans will do theirs of his mind, test him out a bit." He grabbed his cup again and heard an alarm go off. It was time. "Besides," he began when a medidroid rolled Anakin's still, unconscious body into the room with greenish fluid covering him like slime, "We don't know how much of that memory is intact compared to the original."

Padmé looked down at the body and crossed her arms over her chest. Dr. Philscop analyzed her. Her look was one of trepidation, the way someone might look down a long dark tunnel. She continued to give him a long silent look before she heard her comm. beep. She grabbed at it and walked to the exit before stopping to address Dr. Philscop one last time. "Call me when you're done doctor," she left the room, dress sloshing at her ankles like water.

Dr. Philscop narrowed his eyes at her as she left the room. The woman needed to lighten up. She had been the clone's sole caretaker, along with him and the Kaminoan scientist on base. He frowned, looking down at the prone, shivering body on the table. He would never admit it to Padmé or the man on the table shivering from the cold compared to the temperature regulated tank he'd resided in for so long, but the clone wasn't natural. The memories and physical adaptations to the age acceleration formula were abnormal.

Dr. Philscop suited up in scrubs and gloves, pulling a mask over his face, and began washing the youth's body as best he could. A medidroid on standby wiped some of the viscous fluid from his nose, out of his ears and mouth. The doctor wasn't quite sure how to catalogue the young man. He was a tall one, lean like he ate and everything was converted into muscle. He was in excellent health. There were no signs of stunted limbs; outwardly the skin pigmentation was clear and even. Dr. Philscop badly wanted to see how his organs functioned with exercise.

All his years in the medical profession, he'd seen several phenomena connected to clones, to the body, that seemed almost like miracles but were actually simply scientific "hiccups". He was a man who valued logic and science and reason because that was all this galaxy seemed to have held dear to for so long. No one believed in deities or destiny or fate until war broke out and needed something to be explained, or something to be blamed. Looking down at the young man who kept shivering though the water was warm, Dr. Philscop found himself hoping for a moment that he was a miracle. He hoped because no one else had the power or the concern to help the people who were under the boot of the Empire.

He'd watched the Holonet and saw the Jedi saw their Hero With No Fear posted on ads and people praising him for all that he did. He was impossibly young then, and now he was even younger. Philscop looked down at him and felt his throat close, felt his eyes burn with the sheer intensity of wanting him to be their Hero With No Fear again. They'd lost him in the Clone Wars, before the Jedi Temple had been attacked, but now they had him back again. They had their champion. With him on the Rebellion's side, they'd be able to call forth more Jedi and overthrow the Empire.

He patted the young man's forehead as a gesture of reverence, "Please save us again." His plea did not reach Anakin through his unconsciousness. Dr. Philscop continued cleaning the clone off with the help of his assistant medidroid and held back his tears. It was strange thing, to have hope again.

Padmé paced in her office, fingers wringing her gown. The Holonet had just broadcasted something horrible. Naboo was being officially occupied by the Empire. Queen Apailana was suspecting of harboring fugitives and under house arrest within her Palace, including all of her handmaidens. What worried her was the occupation of Naboo, but the reason – reasons she knew all too well were fact. Queen Apailana wasn't harboring Jedi, but she was giving them transport and helping them go into hiding. She knew Padmé was alive and helping Bail and Mon build the Rebellion. She knew about the clone.

Padmé didn't hold much concern over whether or not the Queen would break down and tell. It was the fact that she knew the Queen wouldn't, and that the people would suffer because of what Queen Apailana believed in, what Padmé herself had helped mold. She was loyal and brave – she wouldn't sacrifice either side; her people or her secrets. Padmé clutched at her heart for a moment, seeing Queen Apailana's drawn, stoic face regard the press silently.

In that moment Padmé knew, just like her Queen knew, that she would likely be executed. Naboo would be placed under a puppet government and the Jedi would no longer be safe there. If she knew Chancellor Palpatine, Darth Sidious, the scum that she had trusted for all these years and had taught her the art of politics, he would continue to occupy Naboo. He would likely establish military bases there and begin to drain the natural resources from it.

"_Naboo had nothing to hide. My people have done the good Empire no harm and do not wish to be viewed as traitors. We welcome the Empire's occupation as our esteemed guests and only hope that the investigation doesn't take too much of the Empire's time." Apailana addressed the nearest reporter to her. _

Padmé's breath hitched. It was live feed.

"_And what about your objections to having a base founded on Naboo? Reports have it that you've made objections to having a military force on Naboo."_

"_Naboo has always held pacifist views. We are a peaceful planet and do not wish to implement a military. Our dealings have always been diplomatic. We negotiate. We do not fight." For a distant moment, Padmé took pride in listening to Apailana. She held her ideals firm but was flexible enough to maintain an air of loyalty to the Empire. _

"_Wasn't your one time mentor Queen Amidala a pacifist?" _

"_Senator Amidala had been suspected of starting the Separist war! She had been seen on Geonosis before war was officially declared…"_

"_Is it true that Senator Amidala had held close ties with the Jedi, going as far as having two Jedi bodyguards?" _

"_Senator Amidala had never been my mentor. She had been my friend and encouraged me to run against Queen Jamilia." Queen Apailana, for her small stature, had a booming voice that carried over the crowd of reporters. _

"_Queen Jamilia? Do you mean the Separist?" _

"_If Naboo wishes to avoid confrontations so badly as you said, then why did the Gungans fight your war for you when Naboo was under attack?" _

"_Didn't Amidala during her reign as Queen plea to them to save her people? She used them as a weapon against the Federation's occupation isn't that right?" _

"_Are the Gungans your secret army?" _

"_Do they control your military operations?" _

"_Is it true that the Gungans are your military force so you can better harbor fugitives?" _

Padmé leaned against the desk and watched the girl-Queen patiently observe the reporters before her. She didn't envy her and only wished she hadn't allowed Queen Apailana to force her into hiding. She would have stood at her Queen's side, even until their probable executions.

"_The Gungans came to our aid as friends and sharers of the same planet. Naboo is loyal to the Empire. We have nothing to hide; we harbor no fugitives from the Emperor." _

The reporters continued to swarm and Padmé's concern for her young Queen grew. The report was over, going into vintage films they were bringing back. _My Lady…I've failed you_. Cordé's words echoed in her mind now. Cordé had died for Padmé; she had never needed to apologize for saving her life. Padmé knew, with a distinctly aching heart, that this was not the case with her Lady. She had already failed her before it had come to pass yet.

Her comm. beeped again, alerting her of Taun We's connection. She let the grief run from her like blood from a wound. Her Lady was not yet dead. She had not yet failed. The knowledge that she would however, remained a serpent coiled around her heart.

She linked her comm. to her computer to view Kaminoan on the larger monitor it provided. Taun We's exotic long-necked form came into view. Large dark eyes blinked back at her. "My Lady," Taun We greeted formally with a graceful tilt of her head.

"Taun We, I am no longer in any position to be called lady. We are allies, and I hope friends." Padmé smiled at Taun We, not wanting to waste time on pleasantries.

Taun We seemed to see through her, "I heard that Anakin is out of his tank. I've read his physical reports. His progress is extraordinary but Dr. Philscop has voiced some concerns about his rapid growth. I agree that it is unnatural."

Padmé nodded, "I share the sentiment. The age acceleration process was not meant to speed the growth of a clone so quickly. I fear his system may prove unstable later."

Taun We nodded, observing and accepting what Padmé had to say. "Even with healthy reports thus far, he has not experienced different altitudes, changes in climate or temperature. Exertion may prove harmful to his body when it's so new. Even so, are your concerns purely out of worry for his condition? Or are they for you?"

Padmé stiffened abruptly. "Taun We that is a very personal thing to accuse me of."

"It is not an accusation, Padmé. Dr. Philscop and I have noticed your distance with Anakin. I just want to reassure you that you do not have to pretend otherwise; in a situation such as yours, this sort of behavior is natural." Taun We soothed. The timbre of her voice rose and fell softly.

"I understand that you study human psychology but it is a study. Not a sense of being." Padmé returned tartly.

Taun We was silent for such a long moment that Padmé, snapping out of her defensive phase, worried that she may have offended her terribly. "I apologize," she began.

Taun We waved a hand in dismissal. "Do not, you are grieving and confused. Responses like yours are normal. Had you have been unaffected, then perhaps I would have been worried."

"Thank you my friend, thank you." Padmé felt such great relief spawned from Taun We's understanding that she felt moisture gather at the corner of her eyes.

"Padmé, tell me, very truthfully, how alike is he to the original Anakin?"

The hush that filled the room was pressing into Padmé's very body and invading her insides. "Very," she answered finally. She was proud at how steady her voice came out when it felt like her chest was bursting open, exposing raw organs. Her grief and anger became a pointed tip that skewered her. "He's like him when he'd been a padawan. He smiles like him. Talks like him. Has his memories." Every word made her bleed.

Taun We closed her eyes for a moment, facial muscles moving to form a furrow between her eyes. "Clones are not supposed to contain their original's memories. Perhaps the tank we devised to help sustain his body properly had played a hand in it." She thought aloud. "It was only meant to help his body adjust to his midi-chlorians and his age acceleration formula. I did not suspect that this may be a possible side effect." Taun We frowned. "It still doesn't seem possible."

Padmé nodded. "I've asked Dr. Philscop and he can offer no explanation for the clone containing Anakin's memories."

Taun We made a noise in the back of her throat. "Do you know how much of the original's memories Anakin has?"

Padmé shook her head, to rid herself of the irritation she felt every time Taun We called the clone _Anakin_, and to answer Taun We's well founded question. "I do not. Three months ago he knew who I was, and none of Dr. Philscop's staff had ever mentioned me."

"He knew you? On sight?"

"He woke before the ship landed when I was waiting at the docking bay. One of the medical assistants said he said my name."

Taun We nodded, "His perception with the Force is strong, as always. I wonder though, if his memories have remained intact since he was extracted from the original, what has changed about him?"

It was that question that scared Padmé. "I don't know." She said honestly. A thought came to her mind, hesitant and cautious. "How old was Anakin when Count Dooku extracted DNA from him?"

"Approximately nineteen standard years. Why?" Taun We inquired. "Do you think that perhaps the age of the when original's DNA was extracted has something to do with this?"

"Maybe," Padmé reluctantly admitted.

"It has no scientific basis," Taun We confirmed Padmé's doubt.

"I know, but the Force itself isn't necessarily completely scientific."

"No, but the midi-chlorians are." Taun We paused. "You think that this might be caused by the midi-chlorians."

"I have no expertise in genetics or science or physiology Taun We. But midi-chlorians have never been completely understood by scientists. They've been deconstructed and still they remain a mystery. The Jedi have partial knowledge of them; spiritually, emotionally and explain them with the Force and its ways…" Padmé trailed off. She thought about what she said and how her own confusion shown plainly in her words. She felt embarrassed by her opinionated explanations of things she did not even comprehend.

Taun We simply looked at her. "I will continue an investigation concerning Anakin's situation. As for yourself," the Kaminoan gave her a fond look laced with concern. "Please get some sleep Padmé."

"Would you like to speak to him?" she changed the focus from her back to the clone Taun We still needed to observe.

"Yes please. And Dr. Philscop as well."

"I'll contact you again when the clone has finished his physical examinations." The conversation with Taun We had provided some answers to her questions, but also dug up more. It also meant that her distraction from the clone's possible release had come to an end. Paperwork and planning would take her mind off it until she was forced to face him.

If Taun We noticed the distant designation Padmé continually referred to Anakin as; "him" or "the clone", she did not comment on it. But she did file it away for further examination later.

Taun We gazed evenly at Padmé. She seemed to want to say something and nearly did, but she closed her mouth and smiled. "Good. Let's hope we can clear him for travel."

Padmé had a feeling she knew what the Kaminoan was going to say, and she was grateful she did not ask it. "Good bye Taun We," Taun We tilted her head the transmission ended.

Padmé felt the absence of Taun We's calming presence keenly.


	3. Chapter 3

Being that I don't know every minute detail of Star Wars, some of events which have come to pass and I don't know of, may be missed or skimmed over. Very sorry about that, but there is background information in this chapter, just not a lot. I'm trying not to cram too much back story into one chapter, but get some in there with each chapter so it's not an overload and it doesn't totally bore everyone.

* * *

She heard him, the heavy thud of his boots that was so unlike his muted presence; a pride he took in as a Jedi. She thought at first it wasn't him, that it might be Owen or Cliegg just walking around in the middle of the night. She kept reading, flipping through her datapad on updates concerning the Republic. People had begun to believe that war with the Separatists was their only option – something Chancellor Palpatine encouraged in his rallies subtly and implicitly.

She was so engrossed in the reports, some exaggeration built on a small foundation of truth, others complete lies, and a very few unbiased essays that reporters had published, that Padmé didn't notice that the footsteps had stopped by her room.

A knock came at the door. A single thunderous knock so startlingly that when it came, Padmé jumped and automatically groped for the blaster she kept under her pillow. The knock came again, "Padmé, it's me. Anakin."

She relaxed minutely and called to let him in. She eyed him carefully as he entered her room, looking from the gaunt cheekbones to his darkened eyes. She curled her legs closer to her and set her datapad down. "Anakin," she said carefully. She didn't want to call him by his mother's nickname for him. It was too soon and the wounds were still too raw to rub.

He looked up at her beneath his lashes, horribly saddened. He went to her as a beaten boy with bloodshot eyes. He sat down on the small bed, listening to it groan beneath his weight. He'd angled his body to face her but kept his face hidden, glowering at the floor.

"I keep hearing her scream." He whispered. His hands tightened on the quilt coverlet Beru had given her. "Every time I close my eyes I can hear her calling out to me. Trying to tell me to save her. If I hadn't ignored them at first she would still be alive," he rasped. His voice was rough. He'd been crying again.

Padmé shifted uneasily. She had never been exceptionally good at giving comfort properly. At least not to a single person. As a politician she was well versed in comforting speeches with silver lining.

She lingered her hand above his forearm, feeling his body heat through his clothes before she finally laid her hand on him. She didn't squeeze him, or murmur soft things that may or may not have comforted him about her death. Shmi had died a horrible, slow death. Anakin had had the chance to save her but it slipped out of reach. He watched her take her last breath. He had killed Tusken men, women and children at their camp and left no survivors.

There was no comfort she could give him that wouldn't condemn him in the same breath.

After a moment, he leaned against her, pressing his face into her hair. She allowed the contact and combed through his hair with her fingers. This was not a man seeking intimacy from a woman he felt for. This was a boy looking for sympathy. She heard him hiccup and patted his back. His tears slid over her throat and were soaked in her hair. His body shook and he clasped her to him, gripping her tightly as if she might have pushed him away. He cried like a child; he gave no heed to outwardly showing his distress and only focused on receiving solace.

Despite his larger frame, as Padmé held him and rocked as she might to soothe a crying child, she saw more of the nine year old Anakin; the little boy before he'd become a padawan and how he cried to lose his mother for the first time. While he cried and clung to her, shaking from the force of his tears, she cooed and murmured to him. She did not say whether or not killing the entire tribe was right or wrong, understandable or not. She spoke to him in native Naboo and started humming disjointedly what she remembered of the lullabies her mother had sung to her.

Eventually, he seemed to calm down enough to talk to her.

"I feel guilty about killing them." The susurrus words he spoke were so low that Padmé barely caught him in spite of her ear being so close to his mouth. She felt him swallow heavily. She felt his Adam's apple move. Padmé was somewhat relieved to hear him say that. He'd slaughtered children, killed men and women who had nothing to do with Shmi's death. She would never be able to imagine the excruciating pain and grief he was experiencing so perhaps she was wrong to judge what he did. It didn't entirely stop her from doing so though.

The whisper that came next was perhaps a warning of what was to come in the not so distant future: "But not as guilty as I should."

Padmé looked up when a knock at the door came and retreated from her past to come back to the present. "Come in." She swallowed her nervousness and stood with the air of a Queen who was in control. Or at least gave the same impression of being in control. She smoothed out her skirt and resisted the urge to twist the material. It would wrinkle.

Dr. Philscop entered, closely followed by a newly clothed Anakin. Dr. Philscop seemed torn between pride and incredulity. The clone, Padmé noted duly, seemed cheery – he was walking around with a small wobble that was common. His muscles weren't often used and the exercises in the tank were limited. Exercises would have to be added in with his normal routine, but perhaps she would be able to use that as an excuse to leave the clone here. It was a slight chance, but a plausible explanation.

"Padmé," Dr. Philscop seemed to be beside himself. He looked around, rubbing his small goatee and seemed to be trying to find the words to encompass what he had found. "Padmé, Anakin's health," he spared a small awed look at the young man who rocked on his heels, "Is…is impressive. By any standards. He's, he's amazing. I've had him run the track, lift weights…"

Dr. Philscop continued his narration to Padmé and Anakin observed her. She was listening with a neutral face but whenever she was nervous; her lips would slowly drain of their color. They were beginning to pale. He grimaced. He wouldn't apologize for being alive; he was glad for the life that flowed through him and all around him. Sometimes though she made him feel sorry for wearing a dead man's face.

He couldn't help it but it nonetheless caused her pain, and caused her to shy away from him. He hated that he caused her pain simply by existing. He was angered that he even caused her pain; angry at her sometimes so much that he could never find the words to express it.

He blinked and let it go after a moment, breathing out deeply. Padmé was looking over at him and for a moment her eyes didn't seem quite so inapproachable, the pain that was there seemed magnified by the nearly tender look she gave him. She wasn't looking at him, not really. She was recalling someone else, but Anakin could see no difference between the original and himself. He had all of his memories and feelings – he felt as if he had experienced everything the original had.

He still remembered his mother – broken, beaten and bloodied in the Tusken camp, remembered cradling her and feeling her blood soak in, heard her whisper to him in the dark stillness, felt her take her last breath on so many different, painful levels. Whenever he slept, he could still feel her in his arms, still remember the Tuskens he killed in his anger.

He felt the phantom pains in the arm Dooku had severed from the original, felt the harsh burn of the red saber slice through him. Sometimes he would scratch at it and forget it was flesh and blood and bone instead of wires and gears. He would always shock himself once he looked down at realized that it was his natural hand.

She thought that the original and himself were two completely different people without question. He couldn't see how.

Padmé leaned down and seemed to be trying to contact someone. Likely it was Taun We. The larger monitor, hung against the wall of the room that had encompassed his entire world until just a few hours ago, displayed the Kaminoan. She inclined her head to Padmé and greeted Dr. Philscop. Her eyes locked on Anakin and he nearly took a step back. It was humbling to be on display before his maker; someone not his parent but someone who sprung him up out of science and technology, making him. It was, Anakin thought, a lot like someone meeting their creation god. It was exciting and terrifying all at the same time.

Anakin smiled and bowed his head to her, long hair flopping into his eyes while he did so. "Taun We," he greeted charmingly. She seemed pleased by his mannerisms, bred into him so well through Obi-Wan and the Jedi and his mother.

Taun We smiled, "Anakin. You look well. I trust your test results are excellent?" the question was simply an ice breaker. He knew Dr. Philscop had sent in his results to her as soon as he'd gotten them.

"They are. I'm in exceptional health, he says he'd clear me for release," Anakin grinned cheekily. It was a sort of teasing plea to Taun We and a bite to Padmé. He saw her stiffen out of the corner of his eye. It shamed him more than it pleased him to know that he wanted it to sting her and to know that it worked.

If Taun We noticed the hidden snap to his words, she said nothing, though Dr. Philscop did give Anakin a long sideways look. "Very good. Once I make my evaluation that will be a very likely outcome." She smiled and Anakin found himself smiling back. He felt nervous before her. He'd never seen her while in his "sleep", but he had always sensed her. Now that he was out of his tank, really truly out, he couldn't help but wonder if he will meet her standards.

Her dark eyes cut over to Padmé who stood there, looking awkward and flighty. "Padmé, would you please leave while I make my evaluation? Dr. Philscop, please stay in for the time being."

Padmé, ever graceful, picked her things up; a datapad, a cup of caf, a small datachip and a half eaten purple fruit. "Taun We, Dr. Philscop," she looked over at him and Anakin felt his skin crawl. She looked at him as if she didn't know what to call him. As if she didn't know his name. She seemed to decide on one and when she spoke it, she snapped his heartstrings without ever touching him or giving him a scathing remark. "Skywalker, if you'll please excuse me, I'll be in my quarters for the time being."

She left leaving behind the smell of perfumed hair. Anakin clenched his jaw and hoped he conveyed nothing on his face. Dr. Philscop looked on with raised eyebrows and a small trickle of annoyance towards the woman who continued treating Anakin so coldly. Taun We observed with the eyes of a scientist and psychologist.

"Anakin, Dr. Philscop, perhaps you both should sit. This will likely take a while," Taun We murmured, drawing the attention of the two men. Anakin was the first to move and sat down on the chair to the far left of Taun We, rolling it closer. Dr. Philscop occupied Padmé's chair in front of the monitor. Taun We waited until they were both comfortable before she spoke again. "Now Anakin, tell me, how does it feel to be walking around?" she began her list of general questions; nothing invasive. Just simple inqueries about how he felt, how things were, small discussions on the side with both Dr. Philscop and Anakin about his physical health.

Anakin allowed a small smirk to occupy his face during the conversation. It had a touch of overconfidence and insecurity in it. He kept steady eye contact but his hands were always doing something; he was a nervous, very wiggly. Likely he didn't want to be on the end of psychoanalysis for long. Taun We had come to know Anakin as bold as he naturally was, but there was an interesting hybrid of caution that would appear as often as he would simply disregard it. Impulsive and even explosive. His temper had cracked his specialized tank more than once while in her care.

Her staff members remembered those times well. Despite being unconscious while in asleep, the dreams they hadn't realized at the time that were actually memories, had hit him strong and without being able to wake up he had simply struck out using the Force without any other way to channel his emotions. Only when he had officially "awakened" approximately five months ago in his suspended animation was he able to rein in the emotions. By then, Taun We had had to move him from her station to a partner to ready him for the transition to Dantooine.

"Anakin. Tell me something, what do you want to do if you are cleared for travel?" Taun We had spent nearly an hour coaxing him out of the high stone wall he'd built for himself after Padmé's arm-length title for him, and she could already see the signs of the wall coming back. He was likely going to tell her a half truth, or vaguely reference to the whole truth.

"Fly a ship," he said. His mouth was a flat line but there was a twitch to his lips that betrayed a small truth; a happy, hopeful one. It warmed Taun We's heart to see it. "I want to clean her if she's an older one. They need more care, fuel gets clogged more often and the gears need more oiling. Sometimes some of the electrical lines get corroded so it would probably need splicing and need new wiring. That sort of thing. I haven't flown in a long time," he added the last part as an afterthought, looking down at his hands and clenching them thoughtfully.

He was probably imagining flying a ship, remembering the physical feel of it; the grease and hot electricity on his skin. It brought him a kind of joy Taun We rarely saw. "What can you tell me about the ships you've flown Anakin?" she was curious, curious as to how much he had remembered. Since handing him over to the protection of the Rebellion; Padmé, Bail and Mon, she hadn't had much contact with him outside of reports.

He launched into great detail about his pod race, about the first Nabooian ship he'd flown in, Jedi fighters, speeders and speeder bikes and Taun We listened with equally growing interest and horror at how much he did in fact remember.

Force sensitive clones often had the propensity to display hints of "memory ripples" where the actual memory itself wasn't grasped, but the lasting effects of an especially important one may be. Such as Force training. It often came easier to the clones because they had distant muscle memories of it, almost instinctive but not quite. There was the option of implanted memories and Taun We's team had tried before several times, but the process had always been rejected by Anakin's system – as if something had fought against it. They simply thought to let him grow; see if something had somehow survived from their previous operations. Even if he didn't have any of the memories they wanted him to have at least, Taun We's team had encouraged, he would at least be able to fight. His cognitive skills were above any other clones' that Taun We had ever created. It had been like he'd had a full memory bank and that was why the previous procedures hadn't taken to him. It was never certain, but perhaps parts of each of the memory implants they'd given him had taken, but not all of them at once.

Clearly, that theory was shot.

Anakin's were not imprints. They were not implants. They were actual memories. Memories he felt as dearly connected to as his original had. Taun We, while Anakin launched into the telling of his first encounter with Count Dooku and when he'd lost his arm, had no idea how to describe the phenomena as. It was something as foreboding as it was wondrous.

For a moment, in between analyzing and judging him, she looked upon him fondly as a Kaminoan mother would her offspring. He was a clone in the truest sense she had never before been able to even touch upon. He would be the only perfect one; she had no idea what went so right with him, to make him so absolutely whole, and in the same moment she realized he was a masterpiece, she knew that he would be the only one of his kind. He was aberrant. A scientific hiccup. A miracle.

"What about Padmé? What do you remember of her?" Taun We came back to herself. She could indulge herself later after her evaluation was done.

His look became bitter and vaguely sulky. "She used to like me."

"What makes you think she doesn't?"

Anakin gave Taun We a dry look, "Well. You know, we aren't on first name basis anymore. Not that I was included in the decision."

"You are displeased at how she referred to you?" truthfully it was a kinder title than the one she had said in the privacy of Taun We's presence. She didn't mention this of course.

"Yes," he hissed, eyes looking up beneath his lashes, looking dark and angry. "She acts like she doesn't know me. Like I haven't saved her life before. Like I don't mean anything to her."

"You and she used to be close?" Taun We asked.

Anakin, despite his frustration with Padmé felt a wave of gratitude towards Taun We. She never really distinguished any differences between him and the original. "I saved her home planet when I was nine. I remember we became friends, and when I had been a padawan we were still friends." His brow furrowed and he heard a ringing in his ear while he tried to think back.

He remembered being sent to Naboo with her, protecting her at the lake house. He remembered trying to get her to fall in love with him. He could remember kissing her and having her push him away – he clutched at his chest, inhaling sharply from the last vestiges of pain he felt when she had rejected him, scolded him like a big sister would a little brother. The ringing in his ear got louder. It became piercing.

"Anakin. Anakin," Taun We's voice seemed slightly worried. "Anakin, are you alright? We seemed to have lost your attention."

Dr. Philscop stared at him and seemed to be trying to discern any outward characteristics.

Anakin shook his head and stopped trying to think back and pinpoint memories. The ringing stopped. He breathed slowly and grinned weakly up at Taun We. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

Taun We smiled and continued asking him questions. Dr. Philscop gave him a long inscrutable look before he excused himself.

-break-

Senator Bail Organa locked the doors, closed the blinds and went through every room within his apartment. He had his droid check for cameras or listening devices. Once the coast was clear he felt slightly mollified and opened his comlink. "Mon, Bail here."

Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila sighed gustily. "Finally. I was worried for you Bail."

Meeting with the Imperial Representatives was never a circumstance for tea and familial small talk. Bail managed a weak smile though his friend couldn't see it, "Mon, what is it?"

"They've taken Queen Apailana into custody. The Jedi operation in Naboo has been put to a complete halt. I haven't been able to contact any of them – the movers or the Jedi. No one is responding."

Bail felt cold sweat trickle down his temples. Never had he been so terrified. "Perhaps they went underground Mon. These are difficult times and this operation hasn't been a smooth one, try as we may."

"Bail. There are still Jedi on Naboo. If they have gone underground, the Emperor is searching for them. He has never really trusted Apailana. He doesn't even trust _Naboo_. If they are found, the Jedi will be executed, so will the movers and so will Queen Apailana. With her dead, the Empire will simply place a dummy monarch in her place."

Bail scrubbed his hand over his face vigorously. His wedding band knocked against the bridge of his nose. "And what will you have me do?"

Mon Mothma was silent for so long that Bail thought for a moment that they had been disconnected. "I don't know." She confessed. "Queen Apailana is under house arrest waiting for her death and so are the Jedi we swore to help. There is nothing we can do without exposing the entire operation."

"Queen Apailana knew what she was doing when she joined us." Bail's whispered statement lingered.

"She is a child Bail! We can't send her to her death this is" –

"She's a Queen before that. And she's an adult now Mon. You know this."

Bail heard a strangled noise on Mon's end. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to ignore the curl of grief that was beginning to swell in his breast. "We are sending her to her death Bail." Mon's normally impressive, steady voice cracked. It made him ache in sympathy. The Queen of Naboo had went over and beyond in her assistance with the Jedi and now they were about to lose her through the machinations of the Empire.

A very significant person of the Rebellion was about to die for their cause.

Queen Apailana, who held close to once-Queen Amidala's ideals, had offered to house the Jedi temporarily after the Empire rose. She had recruited Bail and Mon for help in the task; gathering trusted people of Naboo and other Republic loyalists to move the Jedi across the galaxy in safe houses. That she was even willing to try such dangerous measures was astounding.

She had had a close encounter with the Empire three years prior when one Jedi Olin Ferus who had nearly convinced Apailana to attack the Imperial headquarters on Naboo.

Amidala, who had still been serving as Senator at the time, had been able to convince her Queen to not follow through with the attack. It had proved to be her downfall however when in between the Imperial headquarters' growing suspicion that there was a traitor in their midst and attempting to move the remaining Jedi from Naboo in order to save her Queen from an untimely execution, she was found out.

In turn, once the betrayal was found out, Queen Apailana notified the Empire of Amidala's betrayal. The Imperial forces and Darth Vader himself stormed the palace and Senator Amidala's family home and had found no trace of her. Queen Apailana declared Padmé Naberrie Amidala a traitor and exiled her presence from Naboo. Padmé was to be turned in to the Imperial headquarters if she were ever found on Naboo again. Apailana had secured the Empire's trust again and had provided a scapegoat for their distrust.

Three weeks had passed after Amidala's disappearance when she was found. The wreckage from her personal Nabooian craft had been found on Chommell Minor. It seemed that there had been an internal problem; boosters and possibly an engine malfunction. The damage caused by the internal systems explosion and the harsh crash landing was too extensive to properly diagnose the cause of the crash. There wasn't much left of a body; the flames had eaten the clothes and flesh of Padmé Amidala. Only shards of bone were recovered at the site. The bone marrow they had managed to salvage from what was later identified as a stray femur matched her DNA.

The search for Padmé Amidala had been called to a halt afterward. Her family had held a small funeral for her, presided by the Imperial presence of once-security-head Panaka and several stormtroopers.

They had former Senator Breemu to thank for that particular stroke of genius. Taking bone shavings and extracting bone marrow while abandoning the spacecraft on Chommell Minor had been Breemu's idea before she had been officially arrested.

Bail knew how much Queen Apailana had sacrificed for Padmé's escape and playing the loyalist to the Empire. Her people were still stung over their Queen's decisions regarding Amidala, and over her presumed death.

Now, after all that Amidala and Apailana had sacrificed, the Queen was once again under suspicion. The people in the Nabooian Jedi operation were surmising the cause to be a leak.

He knew of their sacrifices, and that was why it tore at him at the Rebellion's helplessness to save Queen Apailana from her inevitable fate.

"What else is there to do Mon? We must find the leak."

Mon would not mourn yet, Bail knew, but the knowledge that Queen Apailana's time was coming to an end would weigh heavily on both of them. This was war, unofficially and subterfuge was required. Queen Apailana would be a martyr and take their secrets to her grave. Friends like her would be lost, they would be tortured, they would die and some would run and hide. They would pay their respects to their losses when there was time to breathe.

For the time being however, there was work to be done.

-break-

Queen Apailana's gaze froze Panaka where he stood. He remained staunchly firm despite her royal presence. "And what brings you here Colonel Panaka?" her dark gaze followed him, eyes narrowed and voice commanding. She wasn't even attempting at being hostile or courteous. This was her court, and the ball was hers.

"Queen Apailana, I'm sure you've been notified that I will be residing here in the palace until you've been cleared of suspicion." Colonel Panaka watched the young Queen. Her hair was coiled tightly but left down, snakes winding down her shoulders and resting against her breasts. Shackles of silver banded her long hair and an ornate headpiece made of filmy bangles and pearls connected to the bracelets in her hair.

"I have," she spoke, voice loud and low at once. Her handmaidens shifted beside her. "Though I must say I am not pleased at the turn of events."

Panaka watched her lips move, the purple lipstick she wore on her top lip made her look regal. She was a good Queen he thought, and it was almost a shame that he was not here on her behalf. She was noble and strong, as Naboo's last Queen had not been – the Separatist slime that she had been. "It was never a question that you would be displeased. It must be done. The Emperor wishes to clear you of these unsightly rumors as soon as possible."

"Of course, I hope your investigation is quick. I trust you will do your job well." She inclined her head to him – for a moment he felt a stirring of disappointment. As Queen, she should never defer herself to those lower; he was a Colonel and the only one who lowered herself to those undeserving of it had been Queen Amidala for the sake of Naboo. To bow before a lesser rank, it could cause others to think that she thought everyone was equal.

"I have heard through the grapevine that congratulations are in order. You will be receiving the Moff title soon." She looked him in the eyes while she said it. Panaka felt himself smile at the recognition.

"Yes. Emperor Palpatine is considering this my…entrance exam to pass in order to receive the rank." Despite his excitement, he continued to keep his hands behind his back and his smile minimal.

"Indeed. It must be a great honor to be the Emperor's home system's Moff." She never took her eyes off of him, seeming to pry deeper and deeper for something Panaka did not know he could hide. The deep penetration with which she used against him made him wonder if she saw him as an enemy.

"It is. It's an amazing privilege that I thank him for the opportunity." Finally, Queen Apailana's assessment ended and she seemed to almost relax on her throne. She did not, but her search for weakness in Panaka's character stopped. He questioned inwardly why she did in fact stop.

One look at Queen Apailana told him what he needed to know however. The stony look in her eyes was not one of respect but of politeness inbred in her. She had recognized the shift in the game. Attempting to curry favor from him would do her no good, they both knew that but this was a royal game. She had the court. He had the ball.

He watched her for a moment; a drawn look in her lean face was unlike the high haughtiness of the plump features of the late Queen Jamilia. With more grooming from Emperor Palpatine she would make Naboo's best Queen yet. The Naboo people were still, unfortunately, under the belief that Queen Amidala had best served them. Perhaps she had served her people well Panaka thought but she would only have led to their destruction eventually. She did well in her time, but she had become a threat to the Empire and all that it stood for.

It was Queen Apailana's time now. Panaka could see greatness in her. After the investigation was done and he could declare the suspicions surrounding the Queen null, perhaps he could talk to Palpatine to mentor her.

It would be a shame to waste her talent just because she was young.


	4. Chapter 4

Fourth installment

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far: sodorland, Mo Angel and Dawn969. Also, a big, big thank you to Rachie81 who's reviewed all 3 chapters. I won't be replying to reviews personally unless there's a question involved or constructive criticism, which I do encourage a lot. If it's constructive criticism I will probably ask, if you haven't specified, what would make it better, what's making it worse, etc. I will not be confrontational about; I just want to know what I can do to better the story. Thank you for taking the time to read this and enjoy.

-break-

The Darjani rainforest was an oddity compared to the rather level grasslands and plains Dantooine offered. The small southwestern area was rife with heavily leafed trees that reached unnaturally up towards the sky. Enormous blossoms bloomed in the trees and spotted the mossy forest floor. Small lizards skittered around, changing color rapidly to warn others of their kind away from their territory.

The long legged Iriaz that seemed to stray from their normal grasslands picked their way around, plucking at the mosses and lichens that grew on the barks of the trees. Briths could occasionally be seen flying lazily overhead, looping and wrapping around branches of the trees as if to lounge in them beneath the sun.

Thickets of spiny underbrush hid the long reaching roots that winded down paths made by the animals. Fauna that should've been more inclined to stay in the grasslands and plains had become accustomed to the duality of their habitat. They had adapted to the dual climate of the Darjani plains that went on peacefully without interruption for miles until it eventually bled into the territory of the small patch of rainforest that had nestled itself in Dantooine.

The hooded figure adjusted his seat position atop his Bol, which he had affectionately named Puc. The beast grumbled but he patted the side of her neck, reaching around to scratch at the skin that stretched over her horns. She huffed and continued to plow her way through the forest.

The forest, despite having no native origin on Dantooine had grown phenomenally over the years due to the planet's naturally moist and humid climate.

The old Jedi Enclave had apparently housed a green thumb who at one point had come from a... lusher area than the blander vegetation that Dantooine had to offer. For all the gardener's efforts, he'd succeeded into accidentally tricking the native Dantari that the Jedi were gods. As such, the forest was left alone and often skirted around. The humans and other sentient beings that lived on Dantooine decided to ignore the forest's existence. There was not much use for it, save for the botanists and zoologists who would occasionally venture into it to take samples and gather research.

Not many people wished to be around plants that could and would and _have_ defended themselves from harm. Thankfully the forest had grown like this. It was capable of housing one of the leaders of the Rebellion, cradled in the safe house beneath the ground. Somewhere in the heart of the forest, gathered beneath the rich soil of a grove, the Rebellion continued to grow unfettered.

The Bol grumbled irritably as she was forced to trek over a fallen tree. The hooded figure eyed the slim tree cautiously. Its dying roots writhed in its death throes and the torn vines twitched. He did not dislike the forest, but it was dangerous. The entire trek from the Secret Jedi Enclave in the northeast to the Darjani forest was dangerous. The Empire had had its eye on Dantooine and was beginning to search through it with fast, capable fingers.

He worried (_never feared because Jedi do not fear_) that they may stumble upon the Enclave. That they may stumble upon the forest's well kept secret. Sensing his growing distress, Puc nickered deeply and her flanks shivered. "Sorry Puc, but please bear it. We're almost there." He patted her side soothingly and sent out comforting waves to ease her. The Bol seemed mildly appeased though her irritation did not die away completely.

Puc did not like this forest. It was crowded. It was slippery and it was strange. It did not belong.

She had come here several times before, for her master wished to explore it. She had not been amused then and she was not now.

She grunted impatiently when her rear left foot was caught in a grabbing root. It was attempting to eat prey larger than it. Stupid thing. She pulled forward but the root clung tighter and sunk gripping hooks into the flesh around her ankle. She snorted and shook her head against the irritant. Her master rubbed her head comfortingly and tried to coax the root into letting go. It would not and began to let loose several more of its reaching tentacles. It would probably try to drag her rider down to floor level and suffocate him.

Stupid.

Puc put her formidable power into her hindquarters and tore the root out. She heard the sharp squeal of protest the small shrub gave for its pain.

She promised to come back and eat the shrub.

Jedi Knight Falon Grey sighed while his mount continued to navigate her way through the serene picture the forest portrayed. Absently he ducked his head to avoid a lizard that had made a mad jump for him; seeing him as no threat and likely quite warm.

Padmé had called him, asking him if he could see the clone. She said it so distantly. As if her friend hadn't come alive again.

If what she said was true about the young man then this was a second chance for all of them. If he had the goodness and the power and the recollections of Anakin Skywalker, then all was not lost to them. To have been naturally imbued with the memories of Anakin Skywalker without needing any implanted memories the Kaminoans or the Rebellion could have concocted and to have such a potent connection to the Force…

He felt himself smile slightly. He'd been lost when Order 66 had been enacted and the troopers had marched through the Temple. He had been nearly overcome with guilt when he hadn't felt the rise of the Empire and cowardly when he'd gone into hiding on Dantooine. He'd been heartbroken when in the Force, where so many Jedi were attempting to contact and warn one another, he'd found the most powerful one tainted. Jedi turned Sith. The murderer of Anakin Skywalker, a monster had struck down a man.

Darth Vader. _Invader_.

Now, as it was in the world, the Chosen One was back. Faith and hope were a rarity but he felt the heartbeat of the Jedi pulsate. Shining and bright as a star, he felt the Chosen One. He'd felt the ripple in the Force when he'd been brought to Dantooine, awakening from his suspended animation and he _knew_.

Darth Vader had tried to kill Anakin Skywalker, but he had ultimately failed.

Puc stopped and the Jedi slid from his mount carefully to touch down on the floor. The clearing was slicked with spongy moss and long green blades of grass. The normal trees strayed from the clearing; the hissing, grabbing and biting ones because something with a greater status quo lived in the clearing.

A tall, thick trunked tree stood before him in a sort of majestic glory someone usually would place on an animal. The red-gold bark shimmered in the dappled sunlight that managed to break between the leaves of the canopies above. A Dantooine built A.I security and sentinel measure that had been gifted to blend in with the surroundings of the small Rebellion base in the Darjani forest.

Falon approached the tree very cautiously and extended his hand. The bark groaned and shifted as if stretching stiff muscles. He felt the heat of a scanner run over the flesh of his hand.

Behind him Puc shied away from the tree.

The leaves shuddered though there was no wind and beneath his feet he could feel the ground frisson while the roots of the tree curled back to feel him. Falon let the tree acknowledge him.

For a long, breathless moment, Falon waited before the tree. He heard a beep and knew his presence had been confirmed in the tree's databank.

It happened then, suddenly. The earth shuddered beneath him violently and sent Puc rearing and backing away. Falon held his ground though he was sent stumbling to his side from the ferocity of the movement. Roots tore themselves from the ground, lifting up clumps of grass and soil, churning the ground below. Breaking the earth, the roots lifted and opened the way to what looked to be a small trap door.

The roots, thick and strong, were a blend of plasteel and durasteel. They curled around the base's entrance filled with sensors and connected to alarm systems. They bundled over the door itself and seemed to make a small bump of complete protection. Even now, the roots continued to keep sentinel over the clearing, quivering with the humidity in the air and running scanners. From the way Puc shifted uneasily and complained she was probably being scanned.

Falon knelt down beside the entrance and pressed his hand to it flatly. He felt the pinprick of a needle inserted into his hand and felt it withdraw to analyze the blood it had taken. It read his midi-chlorian count, his fingerprints, and the pressure of his hand before it recognized him and he heard the snap of a lock undone. The door hissed as air pressure was released from it and it swung open to let him in. A small stairwell beneath the reinforced durasteel ceiling fit with automatic lights met him.

It had been a long while since he had been here. Since Anakin had been brought to Dantooine, in order to avoid any unnecessary strains on his system, it had been the consensus that Falon stay away for the time being until he was strong enough to face someone else who could use the Force. Now, it seemed he was strong enough.

Without hesitation, Falon Grey lowered himself into the entrance and closed the door behind him. It sealed itself shut. The roots fell back around the door with a thunderous noise, slithering back into the ground and replacing the plant life it had disturbed back to the moist dirt. With a creaking groan, the tree had righted all of its roots and lodged itself firmly over the door once more.

Puc eyed the tree from a distance distrustfully.

-break-

Anakin roamed the surprisingly expansive halls of the Darjani base. He'd known he had been on Dantooine because that was what the Kaminoan scientist Taun We had entrusted him to had told him before they'd arrived. He had never realized where exactly the Darjani base was though; beneath a living breathing rainforest. He wanted to go exploring but Dr. Philscop had ordered him to stay underground until he believed he was strong enough to explore Darjani forest.

Anakin wasn't quite sure what to believe when Dr. Philscop said the entire forest itself was one big community of predators.

He'd found his personal exercise room courtesy of Dr. Philscop who had proudly showed him the gravity adjustments, the weights and the circular treadmill. Anakin could feel the inherent weakness from being floating in a tank with minimal movement. It made him tired often, but he usually ignored his fatigue and the soreness that came from working beyond what the doctor had ordered. He hated the feeling, the soft trembling weakness at his arms and legs from strain.

He'd push himself until he was satisfied.

Anakin stopped abruptly when he found himself standing in front of Padmé's office. Ever since Taun We and Dr. Philscop had cleared him for travel, she stayed far away from him. Avoiding him like a coward. She was behaving as if she didn't know him, as if he was a sudden stranger in her life that was _unwanted_. Why would she do this? Did she not care for him? Had she never cared? Was it because he wasn't the first? Was the original so different from him? He doubted it. None of the feelings or memories he had had changed in the course of his cloning.

He'd relived it all.

He began to dimly register that his ears were beginning to ring while he ranted internally and clenched his fists outside the open door of Padmé's office.

She wasn't even avoiding him like she had after he'd attempted to court her on Naboo, the way she'd tread carefully around him on Geonosis despite how he knew she'd felt couldn't compare to –

"Is there something you need?"

The ringing in his ears died away and he faced the object of his frustration. He smiled without mirth. "I'm surprised you're curious."

Without miss a beat, "I'm not. You were standing outside of my door looking determined. I thought it might be best to face you out here where things in my office won't get broken as a result."

"You'd be surprised how much a friendly hello does for someone without human contact." Anakin felt his upper lip begin to curl.

"There was always Dr. Philscop." Padmé had crossed her arms and adjusted her stance from vaguely polite to outwardly aggressive.

"Yes, because he was a familiar friendly face." Anakin hadn't realized he'd stalked closer to her until he started to tower over her.

Padmé lifted her chin, "It wouldn't hurt to make friends Skywalker."

His mouth twisted in his anger at the use of his last name coming from Padmé in such a way, "Obviously not since it seems I'm down one."

Padmé's hand clenched at her dress with white knuckled fingers but gave no other telling expression of her discomfit. Anakin towered over Padmé, his fists clenched and shoulders hunched.

They stood there at the precipice of a possible explosion before a polite cough interrupted them. Both of their heads snapped to the direction of the cough to find Dr. Philscop standing at one end of the hallway.

"Sorry for interrupting family fun hour but there's a guest waiting for both of you in the Cafeteria. A Jedi Knight named…Falon? Talon? Something or other. At any rate, he's been waiting for a while and has been entertaining himself by regaling me of old Jedi stories. He's awful at storytelling but I commend his persistence. I tried contacting you on your comlinks but one was turned off and the other seemed to just be ignoring anything outside of emergency calls." He raised an eyebrow first at Anakin and then at Padmé.

Surprisingly Anakin was the first to regain his composure. He straightened from his unseemly form and walked towards Dr. Philscop, "Sorry doctor, we were trying to work out differences."

Dr. Philscop remained unimpressed, "Trying?"

"We failed." Anakin replied tersely. Padmé did not deny the statement.

Dr. Philscop sighed and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, "Right then. Of course. Of course. Anakin, the Jedi wants to speak with you. Padmé, would you please walk with me?"

Padmé cast Dr. Philscop a curious glance but nodded to Anakin to stand beside the older man. Anakin took his leave to go the Jedi.

-break-

Falon wasn't sure what to think after his insightful conversation with the good doctor. Anakin was in good health, he had memories as fresh as they could be and – well he could feel his Force presence _everywhere_. But obviously there were some gaps that came with his age. Things he didn't remember because he had never experienced them.

Since the DNA they had taken from Anakin had been from the severed arm Dooku had, well, _kept_ after his fight on Geonosis with the _nineteen_ year old Jedi padawan. For what purposes, they didn't know, although Falon could conjure some theories.

A nineteen year old clone with nineteen year old memories. Fresh; from before he'd truly become Palpatine's ear, before long years locked in the war being deployed off to different places, before he'd become –

He felt the brightness of his presence as keenly as he did the heat of the sun. "Anakin," he greeted warmly. They had never before spent any close camaraderie time together, but they had been Jedi and in such times, that was all the connection that was needed.

Anakin felt the presence of one strong in the Force and he grinned boyishly. He reached forward to clasp the forearm of Falon in a friendly grasp and Falon did the same. "Falon," he replied, and the last vestiges of his earlier agitation began to strip away at the other Jedi Knight's steady calming presence. Not unlike Obi-Wan, but less expectant since this Knight was not his teacher.

"We have much to discuss, but first," he gestured to the protocol droid carrying a tray, "Tea and lunch?"

"I can't say no to food." Anakin forewent the tea though, Obi-Wan had loved the bitter drink but he preferred water or juice when it could be had. The droid placed a glass of water down and shuffled away. Vegetable and cheese sandwiches sat on the table surrounded by fruit, all local and Falon made sure to watch his fingers.

Anakin inhaled everything at an alarming rate.

During the time Falon was observing his atrocious eating habits; chewing with his mouth partially open, wiping his dirty hands on the standard black pants he wore, reaching across to Falon's end of the shared sandwich tray to get at something he wanted, Falon attempted to put together a conversation that wouldn't end up disastrous.

With everything that was so right with Anakin, there were many things that needed detailed explantions. From what Dr. Philscop told him, all the information Anakin had heard was from the Holonet that Padmé often kept an eye on in her office and what used to be Anakin's room. Anakin now knew that the Trade Federation was no real threat, he knew of the beginning of the Empire, and how the good Chancellor had become the Sith lord. He knew about the Jedi hiding, about Order 66 but he didn't really know how he'd died. Considering everyone thought he'd died during Order 66, so that was what he thought.

He had no memory of how he'd really died because at the age of nineteen he hadn't yet.

No one but the Jedi knew how Anakin had died – and how Darth Vader had been borne from the ashes of the man's death. And now Falon would have to sort out a choice.

To tell Anakin of his original's true fate may bring out a brooding, darker side than the irrational teen. Would it damn him to know what had become of the original? Or would it be damning to keep it from the boy, not giving him necessary tools to fight the evil that had consumed the one before him? Or perhaps telling him would expose him further to that darkness that now remained small and flighty in him.

Falon was never close with him, but he knew of Obi-Wan's struggle with his impulsive, decisive and rather melodramatic padawan. Everyone at the Temple heard the stories.

"…lon. Falon."

Falon looked up to see Anakin calling his name through a mouth full of partially chewed food. Not even Jedi training could keep the look of disgust from his face. "Swallow your food before you talk."

Anakin swallowed before allowing himself to snicker. "What's on your mind Master Falon?"

And in between a small bite of his sandwich and a sip of tea, Falon felt it. It tunneled and focused so completely on him that for a moment, his hand shook from the intensity of the probe. It was not invasive or unwelcome, but the sheer strength of it was mystifying and humbling. Anakin knew that Falon was leaving something out, that he was thinking very hard about something he didn't seem willing to come forth about entirely.

He allowed the probe for a moment's breath before shields and walls slammed up and shut off the connection almost rudely. It was intimidating to know that the clone possessed all of the original's qualities but somehow seemed calmer or at least less impulsive than the first had been. It was also puzzling.

Anakin watched him carefully; studied his body language, his facial tics and waited.

Falon let him study him like a bug beneath a microscope, squirming and unable to leave the end of such scrutiny. It was required.

He allowed himself to relax, to let down the bristly barriers that came with such a powerful presence. He let calm and acceptance and love and friendship fill him, empty him of intimidation and trepidation. Anakin responded well, taking in Falon's positivity unto himself.

The boy, Falon noticed, had a faint smile that resembled something like fondness. Perhaps he was remembering his old Master, who he probably believed had been forced into hiding after Order 66 had been executed. Obi-Wan probably sat and ate and talked and meditated and taught with Anakin like; accepting calm and unconditional love. To be aware of all that had happened, Falon wondered if Anakin had had the proper means to process the beginning of the New World Order and all the consequences that had come with it.

Had he been able to let go of grief and regret?

From the hungry way Anakin fed off his positive Force release, Falon highly doubted it. Falon himself hadn't been able to completely manage his feelings regarding the new lifestyle that had been force-fed to him. Not yet anyway. Not when the guilt of running from Order 66 when the Temple had been burning and the younglings killed still breathed sulfur into him. At the sight and knowledge of his utter failure, Falon still wrestled with depression. He didn't battle it but he tried releasing everything to the Force.

He didn't always succeed.

Still, looking at Anakin while he took a large gulp of water, Falon saw how young this Anakin looked compared to the Hero With No Fear during the Clone Wars. He had no facial scar. He had no clouded darkness that hated and writhed within him like a dragon in chains. He was whole and pure. Darth Vader didn't shadow him as he had the Hero With No Fear.

Falon knew in that moment what he needed to tell Anakin, and what he would not. Such power and intensity – the passion that needed to be curbed and the zeal that had to be tapered, would be in danger of becoming a second powerful Sith, or a very, very dangerous rogue. Falon prayed that his decision would not trigger even more horrible events to come.

"We have much to discuss Anakin."

-break-

"What is it you have against the boy?"

Padmé stopped abruptly in the middle of the indoor vegetable garden that was tended to by maintenance droids. "Pardon?"

Dr. Philscop had been unusually quiet in their exploration of the underground base, roaming quietly from the exercise room, the Relaxing Pool, a conference room, and now in the garden where their fresh produce came from without added bartering needed from the market that was so far away, he seemed nearly hostile. "What do you have against Anakin?" the older man looked at her in a cross caught somehow between disappointment and frustration.

"I have nothing against him." Her face lost the large eyed confusion and melted into something cooler and distant.

"Then why do you insist on hurting him so often? Or is it that you are so self-absorbed by your own grief of losing a friend that you cannot bear to give support to one who is very, very much out of sorts?" Dr. Philscop had dealt with unreasonable grief; the sort that shut everyone and everything out without heed and eventually consumed the mourner. This was not that sort of grief. It was grudgingly given and Dr. Philscop saw that it was likely that Padmé blamed the original Anakin Skywalker for his death. It made him curious as to how deep their relationship had been.

Padmé's eyes flew wide open again but narrowed dangerously fast. She raised her chin defiantly and squared her shoulders. "Dr. Philscop I'm afraid you are overstepping your professional boundaries. I am not self-absorbed or grieving. I simply don't wish to interact with the clone when I can help it."

"And I'm afraid you are being a unreasonably short-sighted." He snapped back. "All he wants is conversation. Obviously you have prior history with the original and he remembers that. He wants is his friend and confidante, not some vicious woman who has nothing to spare for him but hurtful avoidance and cutting remarks."

She pursed her lips. "Perhaps she can no longer be that."

Dr. Philscop was taken aback by her blatant refusal. "And why is that? Was it his fault that the original Anakin died? That he died a hero?"

He seemed to have hit a nerve because Padmé blanched. She lost color so quickly the doctor thought she might have fainted before she gathered herself again. "No. But things are very…complicated. Complicated in a way that can't be fixed or talked through without some dishonesty." Her hesitance was strange.

"Here I thought I was talking to a Senator and once-Queen. Was I wrong in making that assumption?"

Padmé's face, if possible, tightened even more in her ire. "Why are you making the assumption that you are not?"

"Political leaders believe in diplomacy, and in order to move past the…complications you believe you and Anakin hold, wouldn't it make sense for you to employ some of that diplomacy? Isn't reaching compromises something of a specialty of yours?"

The vegetable garden's automatic watering system started up. Light showers sprung up from the ground and touched their shoes and the walkway.

"I learned in the Senate there are some things that cannot be compromised." She replied quietly. Her eyes did not drop from his, but he sensed some sort of withdrawal from her.

Dr. Philscop let himself soak in the meaning of her words. "Are you considering this a war between the two of you? Excuse me for my lack of political knowing but that seems like a load of cockamamie."

"It is not a war. It is a stalemate." Her hiss was intense and sudden and caught the good doctor off guard. Her eyes compelled and repelled him at once.

"Is it so difficult to reach a compromise between adults?" he pressed.

"He is just a boy who hasn't the faintest what can be done and what has already been done." She whispered furiously. Dr. Philscop didn't completely understand what that meant, but rolled with it.

"How old are you?"

She seemed affronted and vaguely intrigued. "Why should that matter?"

"Answer me, how old are you?"

"Thirty, going on thirty one."

Needless to say, Dr. Philscop was impressed. He had her medical records but it still surprised him. "You look like you're still in your early to mid twenties. Good job." It was a complement that he meant sincerely.

"Naboo women are vain like that." She whispered. "We wish to age that well and so we do." She was redirecting his complement. He let her.

"Tell me then, why does it seem like you are acting like Anakin's age and then criticizing him?" he demanded while he focused back on the subject at hand.

She smiled wanly and the bleak quality of it startled Dr. Philscop. "Because as much as everything has changed, some things never change. And it frightens me."

Dr. Philscop drew closer to her. "What things never change?"

"We met when he was ten and I was fourteen. He asked me if I was an angel and I thought it was humorous, until we met ten years later and he was a Jedi padawan. Suddenly he wasn't a funny little boy with a crush." She sounded broken and distraught. The abrupt tangent confession confused Dr. Philscop as much as it intrigued him.

Despite his original intent, Dr. Philscop found himself reaching out to her. "He has always cared for you." It wasn't a question. Even now, as she hurt him, the boy looked at her with the youthful bovine eyes of adoration. "His respect and…admiration of you still remains. Just because you don't return them," _or do you?_ "Doesn't mean you have to so completely keep him away from you."

The hollow smile touched Padmé's lips again. "It would be very, very simple if I didn't care. It would've been simpler back then, and I kept myself from doing it – and I think it must've been my fault somehow that I never told him how I felt – properly, but at the same time it felt almost inevitable. I have no idea if I would have been able to save him if I had just thought to reach out to him in return, but I was fearful, and selfish and so I didn't and –" she couldn't finish and so stopped herself there.

Dr. Philscop listened to her without really understanding the story behind her seemingly inconsolable pain while moisture beaded at the corners of her eyes and slid down her face. She made no attempt to hide her sadness. "Then why will you not compromise now? Why not reach out to him now?" he asked, confused at this turn of events.

"If it would make things better I would." She paused and collected her composure again. She smoothed out her skirt and wiped her eyes. "But you are right. It wasn't proper of me to be hostile, so I won't be."

"And of your…" Dr. Philscop tried to use caution while testing the waters, "Feelings?"

She looked at him sternly and with grim set resignation. "I will deal with them as I have always."

The light sprinkle of the water from the vegetables carried on their conversation for them, because there was too much that had been said and too many questions unanswered.

Padmé cleared her throat, "We will be leaving once Bail sends a ship and proper papers for us. I've asked Falon Grey to accompany us to Raxus Prime. He can help Skywalker with the Force and help us carry out our mission safely."

Dr. Philscop nodded; Falon would be a good buffer until Padmé smoothed things out with Anakin again. "Take a medidroid with you."

"Of course, we won't take chances with Skywalker." There was no bitter drawl to her voice, simply open honesty. Despite her volatile nature towards the boy, she had never recognized that he wasn't their champion. Her perplexing nature made for an interesting mystery – but there would be time for that later.

"Care for lunch?" he offered.

Padmé smiled, a real smile this time and not the brittle thing that had taken residence on her face earlier. "I'm starving."

"Ah good then. I won't embarrass myself completely by gorging alone."

"Ladies do not _gorge_ Dr. Philscop. We only eat a little more than is necessary."

"Of course, because such distinctions make a difference between the sexes."


End file.
